The Better Part of Valor (6 page)

“The exact same thing happened to me.” Captain Travik’s voice carried clearly over the room’s ambient noise. “That’s the Navy for you, can’t draw a straight line between two points. You ought to come stay with the Marines.”

Torin glanced at Captain Carveg, who gave no indication she’d overheard the comment. If Parliament wanted to promote a Krai, why didn’t they start with Carveg? A Navy captain held rank equivalent to a Marine colonel; Travik had a way to go to even catch up.
On the other hand
, Torin mused, her gaze flicking between the officers,
if they leave Carveg where she is, she can keep doing a job she’s good at, and if we’re very lucky, they’ll stuff Travik where no one on the lines’ll miss him.

General Morris moved out beside the large vid screen at the front of the room and various conversations trailed off into an anticipatory silence. “We all know why we’re here,” the general began without preamble. “A vessel belonging to no known species has been discovered drifting in space. It is, or rather will be, our job to find out everything we can about this vessel. At this time, I will turn the briefing over to Mr. Craig Ryder, the CSO who made the discovery.”

CSOs, civilian salvage operators, haunted the edge of battle zones where they dragged in the inevitable debris. Some they sold back to the military, the rest to the recycling centers. The overhead of operating in deep space being what it was, even the good ones never made much more than expenses.

Like all scavengers, they performed a valuable service and, like all scavengers, they profited by the misfortune of others. Since most of that misfortune happened in combat to people who were never strangers, Torin decided she didn’t much care for the man now crossing to General Morris’ side.

“Thank you, General.” As the general moved back to the
small knot of officers, Ryder turned to face his audience. His eyes were deep-set to either side of a nose that had clearly been broken at least once away from medical attention. Brown hair curled at his collar, and he wore a short beard—unusual in those who spent a lot of time in space and therefore expected to be suiting up regularly. He had a deep voice and an accent Torin couldn’t quite place. “G’day. I hope you all understand why I’m unwilling to give out specific coordinates at this time but I can assure you, this ship is a good distance off the beaten paths. I found it by accident…” His smile suggested further secrets he wasn’t ready to share. “…thanks to a small Susumi miscalculation…”

Torin heard several near gasps and even the Ciptran’s antennae came up.

Susumi miscalculations usually ended in memorial services.
This guy’s got the luck of H’san.

“…that popped me back into real space some considerable distance from the system I’d been heading for. After I got my bearings—and changed my pants…”

And the sense of humor of a twelve-year-old.

Behind her, Marines snickered.

He acknowledged the response like a seasoned performer and continued almost seamlessly. “…I thought I might as well have a look around. Imagine my surprise when I read a very large manufactured object a relatively short distance away. Which was, of course, nothing to my surprise when I went to have a look…” Half turning toward the screen, he ran his thumb down the vid control. “…and found this.

“That little shape down in the lower right is the
Berganitan.
I pasted it in to give you lot some idea of scale.”

It was bright yellow. And it was big, close to the size of the OutSector Stations, longer than it was wide—20.76 kilometers by 7.32 kilometers—with a high probability of the dimpled end representing some kind of a propulsion system. The Confederation database had declared it alien, but—in spite of the color—Torin thought it looked a lot less alien than a number of ships she’d seen.

There were a number of identifiable air locks, one on each side up near the bow, one topside, one on the portside about two thirds of the way back, and one in the belly in the aft third. There were no identifiable exterior weapons. Unfortunately, air
locks had limited design options, and weapons did not. They could be looking at enough firepower to rebang the big one and never know it.

Scans showed no energy signals—in fact they showed nothing at all inside the yellow hull although Ryder admitted his equipment was perhaps too small to penetrate.

Which brought the expected response from the di’Taykan present.

When the
Berganitan
arrived after four days in Susumi space, there’d be more scans, and then the Marines would be sent in to discover what the scans missed.

Simple. Straightforward.

Or it would have been had the scientists not argued every point—with each other, with Ryder, and occasionally with themselves. A half an hour later, when General Morris walked back out in front of the screen, now showing a dozen different views of the ship, his presence front and center had no noticeable effect on the noise level.

“Think he’s going to order us to strangle them, Staff?”

Torin grinned at Guimond’s cheerful question. “It would explain why we’re here, but, somehow, I doubt it.” She kept her attention locked on the general’s face. When, eyes narrowed in irritation, he met her gaze and nodded, she stood.

“MARINES, ATTEN—SHUN!”

Her voice filled the room, wall to wall, deck to deck. It filled in every single space that wasn’t already occupied by a physical form.

Twelve pairs of boots slammed down on the deck as twelve Marines snapped up onto their feet. This time, because it counted, it was a textbook maneuver.

The silence that followed was an unsure and tentative thing. Faces furred and bare stared from the general to the solid wall of black so suddenly behind them and back to the general again. Craig Ryder and the Navy officers had moved from Torin’s line of sight, but Captain Travik was obviously amused by the scientists’ discomfort. If Lieutenant Stedrin found the situation amusing, he didn’t show it. The latter went up, the former down in Torin’s regard.

General Morris swept a stern gaze across the first three rows of seats. “I would like to remind you all that until we are one hundred percent certain this vessel does not belong to the
Others or one of their subject races, this will remain a military operation. Mr. Ryder’s scans as well as information extrapolated from them have been downloaded into your laboratories or workstations where you may go over them in as much detail as you wish. When you have chosen the four scientists who will be first to board the vessel after it has been secured, have them report to Staff Sergeant Kerr so that she can ensure they will be neither a danger to themselves or to her team. That is all.”

The Ciptran unfolded its lower legs and stalked out of the room.

The remaining scientists shuffled in place for a moment, then the Katriens—all trilling loudly—led the exodus.

A moment later Captain Travik waded through the stragglers and headed for the back of the room.

“Staff Sergeant Kerr.”

“Sir.”

“General Morris would like a word with you after you dismiss the team.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Nice to see the fear of the Corps in the eyes of those
serley chrika.
I told the general he should use the Marines to keep the civilians under control.” He sounded like he believed it, too.

“Yes, sir.”

She sent the team back to the Marine attachment under Corporal Nivry and followed the captain to the front of the room, where General Morris was speaking with Lieutenant Stedrin.

“Staff Sergeant Kerr?”

Most of her attention still on the general, she half turned to find Craig Ryder smiling at her. Up close, she could see that his eyes were very blue and the secrets in his smile had taken on a strangely intimate extension.

Intimate? Where the hell was that coming from? She’d never met the man.

“So, Captain Travik tells me you’ll be helping him out on this little excursion.”

Torin shot a look at the captain, who showed teeth. It was quite possibly exactly what the captain had told him. Verbatim.

“I’m Captain Travik’s senior NCO, Mr. Ryder, if that’s what you mean.”

“Is it?” Both brows flicked up. “All right, then. Well, as Captain Travik’s senior NCO, I thought you should know that I’ll be heading inside with you on that first trip.”

“No, Mr. Ryder, you will not.”

“Yes, Staff Sergeant, he will.”

She slowly pivoted to face the general. “Sir?”

“It was one of the conditions Mr. Ryder imposed when he agreed to take us to the ship. And what I intended to speak with you about. As Mr. Ryder has beaten me to the punch, you two might as well carry on with your discussion.” The general’s expression made it clear, at least to Torin, that he appreciated the CSO’s interference. “Lieutenant…”

“Sir.” The di’Taykan fell into step beside the general as he left the room. After a moment’s hesitation, Captain Travik hurried to catch up.

“Alone at last.”

Torin pivoted once more, a little more quickly this time. “Are you out of your mind? You have no idea what’s in that ship.”

His eyes sparkled. “Neither do you.”

“But
we
are trained to deal with the unexpected, the dangerous unknown.” Torin held onto her temper with both hands. “You, Mr. Ryder, are not.”

“I intend to protect my investment, Staff Sergeant.”

“From what? We don’t want your
salvage
.”

“Nice try, but I’ve worked with the Marines before. You don’t know you don’t want my salvage until you’ve had a good look at it. Just to keep things on the up and up. I’ll be looking at everything you do. Might as well accept it graciously.”

“Graciously?”

“Kindly. Courteously.”

“Mr. Ryder, if your presence endangers any of my people,” Torin told him in as gracious a tone as she could manage, “I’ll shoot you myself.”

“Woo.” He rocked back on his heels, both hands raised in exaggerated surrender. “I don’t like to criticize, Staff Sergeant, but have you ever considered cutting back on your red meat?”

A moment later, watching the rigid lines of the staff sergeant’s back disappear out the hatch, Ryder grinned. “Well, when I’m wrong, I’m right wrong—looks like I’ll be having fun with the Marines after all.”

T
he temperature in the narrow corridor had risen to just over 47°C, but the line of sweat running down Torin’s neck had more to do with exertion—inside her suit, it remained a chilly 13°. For the last half hour, her suit had been maintaining di’Taykan conditions and couldn’t be reset.

At least the environmental controls worked.

Early on, an electromagnetic pulse had knocked out her mapping program. Fortunately, the homing beacon had been unaffected and she’d been moving steadily back toward the air lock through a maze of corridors. The builders had gone in big for dead ends, rooms with no recognizable purpose, and huge pieces of machinery that seemed as much historical as alien. Torin had looked down a ladder into the heart of a steam turbine and, shortly after, on a long straightway, had raced against something that wouldn’t have seemed out of place back on her family’s farm—had any of the farm machinery ever tried to kill her.

The air lock was now only eight meters to her right.

Behind a wall.

She was standing at the bottom of an L-shaped area. Another dead end.

She had twenty-three minutes of air left.

There had to be a way.

Slowing her breathing, she mentally retraced her steps.

And smiled.

Three long strides toward the end wall and she released her boots. Momentum kept her moving forward. Feet up, she pushed off hard.

Negotiating the corner involved a bit of a ricochet, but she
got twisted far enough around to hit nearly the right vector. “Nearly” equaling no more than a bruised shoulder. It wasn’t pretty, but as long as it worked…

At the next T-junction, she flipped over, remagged her boots, and walked straight up the wall to a second-level gallery.

Visibility was bad. Particulates saturated what passed for atmosphere and had gummed up most of Torin’s faceplate. It took her five long minutes to find the tube she’d remembered, seconds to confirm that it went in the right direction.

Air lock entry 22.86 meters away. One level down.

An earlier laser bounce had measured the tube at 16.3 meters. Which would put her on the other side of the wall she’d been staring at.

It was a tight fit.

Seven minutes of air left.

On the bright side, the tight fit allowed her to brace after impact, take up the shock with her knees, and keep from careening back the way she’d come.

Air lock entry 6.56 meters away. One level down.

Torin slapped down a shaped charge. It activated on impact.

With four minutes and twelve seconds of air, a thirty-second fuse delay took forever.

Stripping the suit of everything detachable, she jammed it in over the charge, and shuffled back.

Three minutes and forty-two seconds later, she shoved the rest of the debris through the hole, followed it, remagged her boots as she hit the deck, and jogged to the air lock.

As the door cycled closed behind her, she dug her gloves into the shoulder catches and dragged her helmet off the second the telltales turned green, sucking back great lungfuls of air less redolent of staff sergeant.

It took her a moment to identify the sudden sound through ringing ears.

Applause.

Torin turned, swept her gaze over the half circle of watching Marines and brought it to rest on Huilin and Jynett who were looking like anxious parents. “You two are a pair of sadistic sons of bitches,” she said, unhooking her empty tanks, too tired to think of a Taykan equivalent.

Their eyes lightened.

Jynett pounded Huilin on the shoulder and ducked his return swing. “Thank you, Staff.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You had seventeen seconds’ worth of air left, Staff,” Nivry observed, coming forward to catch Torin’s tanks as they dropped. “Why the rush?”

“Well, Corporal, it’s like this…” She paused long enough to remove her left glove. “I didn’t want anyone to think I was hogging the simulation.”